


My Broken Butterfly

by Kitexa



Category: Scrubs
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, Depression, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 09:21:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2807444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitexa/pseuds/Kitexa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU stemming from "My Two Dads" and "My bad". What would have happened if Doctor Cox really had washed his hands of JD? Would he go looking for guidance elsewhere? Made his way on his own? And what of Perry's job, going against the odds? For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction... three years later, we see the end result. JDA, DCA.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Broken Butterfly

**Author's Note:**

> For re-emphasis: this is an AU stemming from "My two dads" and "My bad."

Three years ago I made a promise to myself.

That come hell or high water, I’d never set foot in a hospital again.

Make no mistake, I’m not one of those new age hippie bastards; I’d sooner shoot myself than preach whatever miracle-vegetable out there allegedly cures everything from cancer to the common cold.

I’ve just had enough of the practice itself.

They don’t tell you this on the outside, but hospitals might as well be another word for life-sucking-leech. Every time you set foot in there it takes from you a little more, all the while playing God with your health. And I’m not talking about infection or whatever metaphor you want to use, I mean it clamps its jaws around your soul and every day, pulls a little harder. If you’re lucky, you’ll come away with the person you used to be still intact.

If not, you better hope you’ve got enough saved for a casket.

Now, don’t get me wrong, it’s not always an immediate spiral. I’ve been on the steady decline even before they let me go, and I have no plans to jump off a building. It’s all about the individual.

“Sir?”

I mean it’s crossed my mind once or twice, but I’m just not ready to—

_“Sir.”_

“What.”  I snap, stepping out of my thoughts. My addressor is a young woman with strawberry blond hair— probably an intern, if the way she jumps is anything to go on.  “We… have a room ready for you.”

I smile. It’s anything but kind. “Well isn’t that just peachy.”

She doesn’t reply, walking around behind me instead to push the wheelchair I’ve been stuck in for the last hour and a half. Another reason to condemn this place: unless you’re damn near unconscious or about to give birth, you’d better be prepared to wait. ER’s only got so many rooms. Wouldn’t make sense to give them to just anyone.

I’m not gonna lie, the way down there was... an experience. I thought for sure I’d see at least one face I’d recognize—it hasn’t been that long since I’ve been out of practice.   Feels like it though, which is why I was actually relieved my memory didn’t click whenever a medical or surgical staff member walked by. Last thing I want to explain is why I’m here instead of booking an appointment with a physician. Or the alcohol on my breath.

“Here we are.” Says ‘Jumpy McScrubs’ as I’ve decided I’m going to call her, from above my head. She parks my chair beside a medical bed and I’ve got to confess, I nearly cringe. It’s been a long, _long_ time since I’ve seen one of those.  

“Thanks.” I mutter, more dismissive than directly hostile. New challenge: can I get into this thing without pieces of the past sticking to my brain?

Unfortunately, I’m unable to answer the question as Jumpy grows a pair and asks me if I need help.

“I’m fine.” I swear to you, I thought I was. Yes, I’d checked in here because I’ve enough self –awareness to recognize when something’s wrong, but because it is (and, like I mentioned before, I’ve been drinking) my stomach lurches the moment I stand up.

“Careful now—”  She’s a lot stronger than I’d initially thought, given her size; one hand slides behind my back, the other bellow my chest, carefully easing me against the stiff sheets.

“Thanks, Jumpy.” I groan, pinching my eyes shut as I wait for the nausea to subside. I don’t realize I’ve used the name aloud, and even if I did, I’ve more important things on my mind. Namely, trying to keep what little I’ve eaten today to stay in my stomach.

“…it’s Lisa.”

 _What?_ One eye cracks open.

“My name.” Jumpy explains, brow pinch in what I can only assume to be the fear that comes with being a first-time doctor. “It’s Lisa.”

“.. Oh.” It isn’t ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you,’ or ‘oh, wow you must think I’m an idiot.’ It’s an ‘Oh’ of acknowledgement and nothing more. “Lisa, then.”

Satisfied I’ve (at least temporarily) succeeded in saving us the embarrassment that would’ve been cleaning up my vomit, I adjust my position, lying back more comfortably. “I s’pose you want me to drop my pants now, right?”  I ask with a thin smile. For a brief second, it looks like she blushes, before recognition lights her dark eyes, and she nods instead.

“I’ll have a nurse bring a gown for you.”

“That’d be great.”

She leaves soon after that, and I close my eyes, again.   _Could’ve been worse,_ I think to myself, as wouldn’t you know it, a headache starts to form. It’s true, though. I could’ve been stuck with someone unbelievably annoying. Well, more annoying than the usual irritation I feel in the presence of company. Or, as I said earlier, I could have been saddled with someone I knew.

Thankfully, there’s nothing but strangers and an undoubted amount of time to catch up on sleep while I wait for a nurse. This hell-hole isn’t only short on rooms, there’s never enough people around to—

“…Perry?”

_Dammit._

“Carla!” I grin, opening my eyes and hoping she buys the enthusiasm. I don’t feel it, but three years have gone by, with any luck she’ll believe I actually miss this place. “Gosh darn it all, I hardly recognize you.” I debate extending my arms but I’m a) not at all sure how coordinated I am and b) loathe physical contact.

“Nice to see you, too.” She replies, eyes on me and void of a smile, herself. She hands me a folded gown, slender brow fixed in what I hope isn’t concern.

“For the record,” I add, in case my previous comment leads her to believe I’m delirious. “I do recognize you. It’s just been a while, you understand.”

“I do.” She answers, in a tone I can’t quite place. Maybe it’s the scotch still in my system, or whatever else is going on, but I swear there is something different about her. There’s an edge I don’t remember, an exhaustion peering out from beneath her makeup.

We hold each other’s gaze for a few seconds, before that concern I’d haphazardly guessed at blooms across her face. “How are you, Perry?” 

I wish I could say my performance held, and her questioning my well-being stayed along the lines of my first exclamation. But my time away from this place doesn’t hold a candle to the length we spent working together; she knew me well, and knew I knew it, too.

“Sick enough to come here.” I confess, smile shrinking, but still there. I leave the automatic ‘I hate this place it just happens to be closest to my apartment’ hanging in the air; I’m too damn tired and my stomach’s protesting, again. 

Her upper lip curls, but there’s a distance in her focus now. If memories are anything to go by I’d say she’s making mental notes. A small thing, really, but it keeps reality very loud and present. This isn’t a reunion, it’s a damn hospital. _Don’t forget that._

Finally, Carla files her thoughts away, pulling me out of my own when she speaks. “You look thinner.”

“You don’t look so hot yourself, sister.” I retort, before I remind myself who I’m talking to. In my defense, this ‘not used to dealing with people’ thing includes former colleagues. Spend enough time with no one but yourself, you’re gonna get defensive. I know I’m not the picture of perfect health; I didn’t need her telling me.  

Unfortunately, she either misreads the cause behind it or I’ve rubbed up against that edge the wrong way. Her lips purse, and I prepare myself for the inevitable earful.

“I’m going to let that go because you’re clearly not all together.”

…or not.  “..thank you.” I offer, weakly.  I’m hoping it’s less a professional decision and more because she recalls she’s the only thing about this place I ever considered redeemable. I can’t tell, and I’m left wondering as she turns back towards the door. _  
_

“Carla—”

She cuts me off, turning partway back around. “I know, Perry.”  There’s a sadness in her voice I try to pretend I don’t here. “Get dressed. I’ll have a doctor with you, soon.”

With that, she disappears, leaving me alone, again. _Well done,_ I scold internally, shedding my dignity piece by piece of clothing. A shiver crawls up my spine, pushing a few choice words from my mouth. I forgot how cold it was, in here.  Still, that isn’t the forefront worry on my mind: looking down as I stripped only confirmed Carla’s observation. I am thinner. I’m also not an idiot, as that’s partially why I checked myself in here, but with the nausea more aggressive, everything else took a back seat.

“Shit.” I mutter to myself, fumbling with the ties behind my back. Fuck it. Coordination’s a pain in the ass, and my head still hurts. I let the gown remain as is, climbing back into bed. Pulling the covers over my lap, earlier thoughts of a nap resurface. I don’t really give a damn if some doc walks in on me, dozing. I feel like a mountain of crap, and apparently resemble one, too. No one’ll hold it against me.  If they do, I…don’t actually have a comeback prepared, so I’ll cross that bridge if it comes.

* * *

 

 

“Mr. Cox?”

“Nngh..”

“Mr. Cox, can you hear me?”

Something between a moan and a grimace pushes past my lips, adding what I think is a half-assed request to be left alone. Nose twitches, eyes already closed squeezing tighter. I don’t remember actually falling asleep, but I must have; everything’s sluggish, and the throb inside my head has gotten worse.

“I’m sorry to wake you.” The unwanted intrusion—female, for the record—continues. “But the doctor’s on his way. Sent me ahead to get started.”

One eye peels open, looking at her and oh, it’s Jumpy _I mean Lisa_ come back again. Fantastic.  “Isn’t that…” I croak, still fighting sleep, “....isn’t that something you do, together?”  Last I checked, interns were supposed to learn from their superiors. One of those necessary evils you don’t want but need to get through for their benefit. There are, of course, exceptions to the rule, but when one of us has had enough we can trade in for another. It is, in so many words, like purchasing new shoes. You try them out, walk around and if they fit, keep them. If not, put ‘em back until a better match comes along.  I tilt my head against the scratchy pillow underneath. Maybe this doctor’s let her go ahead because he’s realizing they’re not a good pair. For all we both know, today might be the very last time I see her, snatched up by some other Attending to a different hospital wing. Really quite a shame, I don’t mind Lisa. I don’t like her, but she hasn’t made my eardrums bleed in the short time we’ve been acquainted. That’s more than I can say for the ones I used to teach.

“Doctor Dorian doesn’t like to waste time.”

I blink, a knot between my eyebrows. Speak of the devil.

“...you don’t happen to mean _John Dorian,_ do you?”

“…yeah.”  She answers, in a tone that manages to balance quiet and surprise. I’d applaud her if I weren’t sure the action wouldn’t send the blood to my head and make the pain worse. “You know him?”

I chuff, managing a smile. “Once. Taught him for a while in his first year.”

Lisa pauses, looks at me funny, then scowls. “I can’t imagine what that was like.”

“Believe me, you don’t want to.” So Newbie still worked here… although I guess I ought to call him ‘doctor,’ seeing as he’s here and I’m not. _I wonder what kind he’s turned out to be._ If Lisa’s expression is anything to go by, I’m betting he’s still a needy, oversensitive idiot. _My condolences, Jumpy._

“Anyway.” Pipes the intern up again, raising her chart and picking up the pen, attached. “I need to ask you a couple of questions.”

It wasn’t anything overly exciting. Just the safety-routine they have to go in order to treat you without accidentally screwing you over. Do you drink alcohol (yes), use recreational drugs (nope), sexually active (another big nope) and blah blah _blah._ By the end I was seriously reconsidering my ‘I don’t entirely hate you’ decision. Only reason I didn’t was because I knew the sooner I cooperated the sooner I’d get to the bottom of whatever the hell was wrong with me.

 And because right then, John Dorian entered the room.

If I say he looked like I’d expected, I’d be lying.

I mean yes, the getup was essentially the same—gray-blue scrubs overtop a darker blue, I’m guessing long-sleeved, shirt—but he stood taller, more reserved, like the kid had gone from pup to full grown labradoodle-mutt. I say ‘mutt’ because that clean-shaven mug I’d last seen him with had sprouted stubble, and his hair was longer, too. Still or greased or moussed with who the hell knows what, but back, now, instead straight up.

The kicker, though?

What threw me off the most when he first walked in?

 A white lab coat clung to his shoulders, like it was trying to fit but hadn’t found the right way. Granted, he’d filled out a little since his first year. Didn’t make a huge difference, but it fit better than it would’ve if he’d had the gall, starting out. Got the wheels turning, anyway: he’d have to at least be a resident now… although the change in wardrobe was a little ballsy. I didn’t wear one of those til I was an Attending.

“What seems to be the trouble, Mister…” starts the grown-up Newbie, glancing at his chart. Just as suddenly, he quiets, raising his head. “… Cox.” That professional curtain parts from his face, and in the second it does, his eyes widen.

Normally, I’m not a ‘few words’ kind of guy. Situations be damned, I always have something to say. Probably would’ve here, too, if illness weren’t an issue. And, you know, time apart. Unsure what to do, I finally smile. “Hey, J.D.”  

The use of his name snaps him out of his stupor. Instead of the grin I’m expecting, blank-slate returns, checking over the medical notes. “…it says here you submitted yourself for nausea, fatigue, and concern over weight loss.” He pauses, and while his expression doesn’t change, I swear I almost detect ridicule. “You sure you didn’t just drink a little too much?”

Beside him, Lisa’s mouth thins. Me, I just stare. “…come again?”

Something different flickers across J.D’s face. Before I have the chance to make it out, he laughs. “I’m just kidding, we like to have fun here.” As if seeking confirmation, he glances at his intern. She nods, gathering a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. That’s… odd. If I remember right, and I may not, wasn’t Newbie once the friendly honey to every fly buzzing around here? _People change._ Yeah, but…

Actually, I can’t counter that. They do change, especially with this job.

I let a sigh slip free, then, hoping it’ll cool the offensive surge sparked by his alleged accusation. Everything else stays on alert. I can’t explain why, but the way he spoke bothered me almost more than the words themselves. The tone, or delivery, I wasn’t sure. Maybe it really was the change, and some small part of my brain thought he wouldn’t.

“Antics aside,” Dorian continues, lowering his chart to look at me again, “I’ve had three people warn me about your breath. What you’re feeling now could be a case of severe dehydration. We’ll run some tests, then look into an IV.”

I want to tell him that’s probably _not_ the case as I’ve been feeling like crap for nearly two weeks, but all that should be in his chart and I saw him read the thing, he should know. Even I’d know better than to peg a diagnosis on—

It clicks unexpectedly.

I know J.D. is a good doctor. No one sports a coat like that unless it’s well-earned. Or that neediness hasn’t rubbed off and he needs the affirmation his residency means something. That aside, I remember the kid’s work ethic. He wasn’t the boldest banana of the bunch but he cared about his patients about as much as I did.

More than that, he cared about me. I’m not talking in a touchy-feely bullshit kind of way, I mean Newbie literally followed me like that labradoodle I compared him to, earlier. I kid you not, if I’d held a biscuit out and asked him to sit, he would have.  Watching him leave my room, jumpy-Lisa trailing behind him, I realized all of that is gone. No fondness, recollection; I don’t even think he smiled, save for the laughter, and I’m pretty darn sure he was _mocking_ _me_.

That’s the difference, right there.

He doesn’t seem care like he used to.

Left alone again, I close my eyes. The sooner I get out of here, the better.

**Author's Note:**

> So this was supposed to be a one-shot... now it's multi-chapter. We'll see if I can finish it.  
> Also, J.D is supposed to look similar to Zach Braff's character in "Wish I was here."


End file.
